Sparrow
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot, teen!Lock prompt-fill. Sherlock Holmes will never forget the girl who meant more to him than Chemistry, but whom he would never be with again. [Mild angst at the end]


_**A/N:** This is written in response to this tumblr prompt:_

_**"Teen!lock. Molly the model student is paired up with badboy Sherlock in their Chemistry lab class. Everyone is telling her to stay away from him but she can't because she cares for him. Sherlolly feels 3 3 3"**_

_I don't really read nor write teen!lock and I was really tempted to reply to say I couldn't do it. However, your prompt gave me this little idea so I just ran with it. It's not got the happiest ending, bittersweet to say the least. Also, I've tweaked it a little, so there are Sherlolly feels…but the sad kind. :( I'm sorry!_

* * *

**Sparrow**

Time seemed to tick by awfully slowly as Mr Ashby drawled on and on about the experiment they were about to embark on. He was overly-meticulous about every detail, from the way they were to handle the hydrochloric acid to the 'history' of titration. No one needed to know _that_.

When he was finally done with his lecture, the class was told to pair up and get to work at the lab benches. Molly looked around furtively and saw people naturally gravitating to whoever was nearby. As pairs formed like magnets nudged together, Molly realised there were two lone figures left: Hers, and that of Sherlock Holmes.

"Mr Holmes," came Mr Ashby's exasperated voice, "I did say this was _pair_work. If you should feel so disinclined to comply I shall not hesitate to pair you up with the principal for a little talk."

Molly swallowed nervously. This was a frequent occurrence with the infamous Sherlock Holmes. He was brilliant, notoriously brilliant at his school work, but he was also notoriously aloof, keeping himself isolated as often as he could. Molly never liked any drama, not in the classroom nor the laboratory, so she kept quiet, hoping he would make his decision quickly to either leave the room or to join her.

His reluctance to pair up was so apparent, it felt like a wall was approaching her. His movement was so silent and sleek, but ever so cold. She stole a quick glance at him and noted how steely his eyes were. He seemed so unmoving, like a stone sculpture. A beautiful sculpture, but a sculpture nonetheless, and made of stone at that.

"So, shall we begin?" Molly asked with a quick smile in his direction.

He turned his head slowly to look at her, her smile immediately dissipating when he did. His eyes seemed to bore into her as he peered right into her own brown eyes.

"Why should we begin?" he said to her, his gaze not once moving.  
"Well, this is today's experiment and…we were told to pair up…so…" Molly attempted to reply.  
"It's far too simple," he interrupted quietly, "You and I, we'd get the answers in a heartbeat."

His words stunned her. Molly could not tell if this was his odd way of making an introduction or some sort of severely backhanded compliment. Either way, it perplexed her. She picked up her pencil and began to study the sheet given to them. It was clear he was not interested. And even though he _was_ right, that this experiment would be a piece of cake to her, she liked lab work and so began the experiment on her own.

"Are you really going to go through with it?" he asked, as she reached for a beaker.  
"It's lab work, I'm in a lab, I'm doing the work," she answered simply.

A small smile appeared on Sherlock Holmes' normally inexpressive face.

"You go ahead then." he said, "I'll check if your calculations are right at the end."  
"Suits me" she said, reciprocating his smile.

As Molly carefully and expertly executed the titration experiment, she realised that this experiment marked the first conversation she had ever had with the brooding and elusive Sherlock Holmes. It made her smile to herself. Somehow, it felt special talking to him. Sherlock noticed her smile and was intrigued.

"Are you seeing something I'm not?" he asked her.

His question had interrupted her train of thought and she turned to him, frowning slightly.

"What?"  
"You were smiling," he said, "To yourself."  
"I like chemistry," she answered, grateful for the quick bluff.  
"Hmm," He responded, looking thoughtful, "Well, I suppose I can understand that. Chemistry pleases me too."  
"Good," she said, handing him her completed sheet, "Because I'm done and it's your turn." 

* * *

It was only later at English class that Molly realised what a sensation she had caused.

"Were you both having actual conversation?" whispered a chatty friend of hers as their English teacher rattled on about Proust.  
"And you _actually_ saw his face?" asked another friend who leaned across her desk.  
"I've heard he's dangerous," said a boy in front of her who had overheard.

"Is there something intriguing about Ms Hooper, that all three of you should need to lean in and examine her so intimately?" asked Mrs Nichols, their English teacher.

"Sorry, Miss" chanted the three friends who slunk back to their desks. 

* * *

The school day finally ended and Molly was on her way out of the building when she noticed a figure huddled under the large apple tree that stood proudly by the school gates. Molly was curious and she walked closer and closer to the figure that seemed to be seated on the grass, staring hard at something on the ground. She gasped slightly to herself when she got near enough to recognise who it was, but carried on walking. After all, she had survived a conversation with him at Chemistry today and she knew for a fact that he was harmless. But before she could even approach him, he spoke first.

"I can't figure it out." he said, his back still towards her.  
"I'm sorry?" she said, coming to stand beside his seated figure.  
"I can't figure it out," he repeated, turning to face her, "Can you?"

When Molly looked down at the patch of ground he was staring at, she realised what he had meant. A tiny sparrow lay dead in front of him, its claws contorted and ugly from rigour mortis. There was a single, tiny speck of red that dabbed the end of its beak, but there were no visible wounds on the fragile little sparrow's frame.

Molly knelt beside Sherlock, who remained seated where he was. She removed her bag and unzipped it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her.  
"Seeing if I can answer your question," she replied, as she pulled out a pair of surgical gloves from her bag.  
"Why have you got that in your bag?" he said with a puzzled frown.  
"Why haven't _you_?" she replied, raising her eyebrow at him as she slipped the gloves on.

Her expression made him smile and he watched in utter fascination as she gently scooped the bird up in her hands. She brought it up to her face, moving her hands slightly so that she could observe the bird from all angles. Slowly, she then used two fingers to gently pry under the stiff wings of the bird, taking care not to break any part of it.

Her movements were smooth, fearless and they mesmerised Sherlock. The look of concentration on her face was absolutely delightful as she carefully studied the dead bird.

"There…" she whispered with glee.  
"What?" he exclaimed, scrambling for a closer look.  
"I found the puncture wound." she said, lifting the wing for him to see.  
"Yes, yes, I see it now," he said, a spark of excitement in his voice.  
"My guess is it fell out of its nest, and got bitten by a dog." Molly explained, "A friend of mine had a dog who bit a bird that fell out of a tree and it looked exactly like that."  
"But what about the dab of blood on its beak?" he asked.  
"I don't think that's blood," she said with a laugh, "In fact, you see the bush over there? I can guarantee you that's where the bird was from. It's not red from blood, but from the red currants growing in that bush."  
"But how…"  
"It's not darkening the way blood should. Nor is it drying up as blood should. The red is far too vibrant."

Sherlock merely stared at her, in a mix of amazement and admiration.

"Put the sparrow down," he said, all of a sudden.  
"Okay…" she obliged, gently returning the sparrow to where she found it.

The moment she put the bird down, she felt his cool fingers wrap around her wrist as he pulled her along with him to inspect the red currant bush. He then let go of her hand as he carefully inspected the brambles, only to find the exact nest she was talking about.

"You were right," he breathed.  
"About?"  
"Everything." he said, turning to face her.

This time, Molly took a proper look at the infamous Sherlock Holmes. His eyes that were normally steely and grey seemed to sparkle with genuine emotion. There seemed to be a slight flush of life in his normally pale cheeks. What Molly noticed most of all, however, was the dazzling smile he had on his face. He stepped towards her with his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides. She could see his fingers twitch, as though he were contemplating moving his hands.

"I think, Molly Hooper," he said, looking right at her, "I am going to like you a lot more than Chemistry."

Molly could not help but chuckle at his words. She peeled of the surgical gloves and tossed them in a spare paper bag she had with her.

"Come on, Chemistry partner," she said, reaching for his hand, "We've got a sparrow to bury."

The pair made for quite an interesting sight as they crouched beneath the apple tree, burying the little sparrow and adorning its little grave with a few branches off the red currant bush. Needless to say, they remained quite the pair during and outside of Chemistry classes.

Although they separated before going to their respective universities, Sherlock would always remember Molly, the girl who helped him solve his first case. He thought he had spotted her once, on a brief visit to the morgue at St. Bart's on a case, but he also spotted the ring on her hand. He could not be sure if it was her, but she looked so alike that the sight of her ring inadvertently left a small puncture wound in his well-guarded heart.

He made sure to erase that memory of her hand with the ring. Instead, he chose to look up, and if he ever spotted a sparrow, that was the memory he would choose to live by.

**End**


End file.
